


‘cause i can only think about you

by SHACKLEFORD



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Harry is a bottom don’t argue with me, a bit of Macy worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-11 19:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHACKLEFORD/pseuds/SHACKLEFORD
Summary: Macy has been having dreams, but what about Harry?





	‘cause i can only think about you

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the King Princess song “Prophet”.

Harry was sitting in the attic on the couch enjoying a rare moment of peace. Everyone had gone to bed, there was no immediate danger, and he was indulging in a mystery novel about a rogue cop determined to right the wrongs his former co-workers were inflicting upon the city. It had everything he loved in a book: suspense, social justice, good triumphing over evil, a touch of romance. Harry pulled the blanket closer and settled back against the pillows, thankful that the Assassin had managed to leave everyone’s favorite couch unscathed. He was warm and blissfully content for the first time in weeks.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, so soft that Harry nearly missed it. “Hello?” he called out, and the door creaked open revealing his eldest charge. “Ah, Macy, are you alright?”

Macy entered the attic, fully dressed in the same dark outfit she had worn to the 7th Circle Club, with the exception being her hair, which she wore loose. Her curls looked exceptionally soft against the harsh lines and edges of the tight jacket and pants, and Harry swallowed a breath. She was smiling at him, mouth closed, a tender tilting of her lips which were painted in that familiar dark purple-black shade of lipstick. He tried valiantly to keep his eyes locked with hers, determined to not break his composure around his charge, but gods was it a borderline impossible task when this particular outfit flattered Macy in all of the right places, her mostly bare chest gleaming with gold chains that practically screamed, “Look here, Harry!”

When they had glamoured at the club, Harry had been unprepared to see the woman he had been harboring intense romantic feelings for fully made up and exuding raw power. That image of Macy had been burned into his brain, and why was she here now? Was she going somewhere? Was there danger?

Macy still hadn’t responded to his query. Instead he blinked, and found her sitting beside him, peering over at the book still clutched in his hands. She smiled up at him, caught his gaze, “You can look if you want to.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Could she read minds again? Macy laughed softly. “You like this outfit on me, don’t you Harry?”

He could only nod dumbly, overwhelmed by the why of it all. For some reason, his mouth refused to make the words tumbling about his brain, the questions building up in his throat and getting stuck between his teeth, but they all went out the window when Macy edged ever closer, her hand slowly pushing the book out of his own. Their eyes never broke contact; it was as if he was falling endlessly into some unknown, but still strangely familiar place, somewhere dark and warm and fuzzy around the edges. His mouth ran dry, and Macy drew closer, suddenly mere centimeters away from his face, her eyes gleaming in the candle light (when did he light candles?). 

“Do you want to kiss me, Harry?” she whispered into the space between them. 

Those damned words, stuck in his throat again, his mind screaming, “Yes!” over and over again and trying to force their way out, but somehow Macy must have heard him. He must have said something, because her lips were on his now, soft and sticky slick from the lipstick. He could smell her perfume, feel her hands skating up his wrists, coming to rest on his biceps, and squeezing tight. He was filled with just her, only Macy, invading his senses and taking control. 

The book somehow came to rest on the coffee table in front of them; he somehow ended up on his back, Macy straddling his lap, her hands now resting on his shoulders as they continued to kiss at a torturously slow pace. Her lipstick was smudged; he could taste it on his tongue, and the sensation only drove him further to the edge. He wanted to consume every inch of her, and now her hands clutched at his hair, tugging at the strands and drawing a low moan from deep within him. His words had been stolen from him, and all he could do was grunt and groan while her nails scratched his scalp, sharp but still so tender and loving.

In a blink, her jacket opened up inviting him to touch (Had he unbuttoned it? Had she? Did it truly matter?), the golden necklaces spilling to the floor like water. His thumbs traced the line of her collarbone making her whimper against his lips. “Please, touch me,” she sighed, her mouth somehow never leaving his. His hands obeyed, cupping her breasts gently in his palms. He thumbed her nipples like a whisper, and when she moaned aloud he roughened the touch, rolling them between thumb and forefinger and making her shudder above him. She pulled away from his mouth, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and he took the opportunity to lean forward and draw a nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping until she gasped and squirmed against him.

Macy opened her eyes again; they had turned totally black from his ministrations. ‘Is that because of me?’, Harry thought in passing, but then her hands were back on him again, scrabbling at his chest, tugging the buttons of his shirt open and exposing him to the cool air. Her nails scratched and smoothed red lines down his chest and stomach before resting at his waist. She locked eyes with him again, and he cupped her cheek in his hand. He wanted to say he loved her, that she was beautiful in so many ways, and was especially so when she was disheveled and straddling him. 

Macy must have heard him, somehow he must have spoken the words, because she grinned and flushed in response to the thought trapped in his head. ‘She must be able to read my mind, of course she would be able to’, Harry thought. She was a powerful witch, with untapped abilities beyond that of an average person. Macy was not average, she never could be; he wanted nothing more than to bask in her greatness, and to show her how much he loved her. 

Her hands were busy again, and suddenly both of their pants were across the room. ‘When did that happen?’ Harry thought, before being interrupted by Macy’s mouth on his once more. Those hands he found himself so incredibly distracted by were teasing him, skirting along the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and making him thrust up against her. She laughed aloud as they moved together, making each other whine and moan while she whispered breathy, filthy resolutions into his ear; promises of pleasure that went beyond a simple one night fling on the couch. And then, in another blink, their underwear was gone, joining their pants on the floor. He really could not understand how or why, but she was so warm and wet against him, muttering curses in his ear as he teased her entrance, that he could care less about whys or hows. “Please, Harry, please,” she whispered into his ear, hot and sweet, “please fuck me, please.” 

Finally, slowly, he was inside her. She wriggled against him, drawing him in deeper, demanding every inch. “Macy,” he said aloud, the words he wanted to say finally unsticking from his teeth. “Macy, I love you. Macy, Macy, Macy, Macy.” They moved together, their pace quickly becoming frantic as they tried to be as close to each other as possible, to reach the end together. She caught his eye again, locking him in her gaze as he said over and over again, “Macy, Macy, I love you, Macy, so ah-, fuck, so beautiful, Macy, Macy, Macy…”

“Harry?”

He opened his eyes (when had he closed them?), and expected to still see the beautiful witch above him, riding him like it would be their last time together, but instead he came face-to-face with another Macy, one that was fully clothed in a sweatshirt, leggings, and a concerned expression on her face. “Harry? Are you alright?”

Harry sat up suddenly, the book on his chest tumbling to the floor. “Oh, ah, yes. I’m alright. Why do you ask?”

Macy sat down beside him on the couch (wasn’t he lying down before?), and laid a hand on his arm. “You were saying my name over and over in your sleep,” she said with a tiny, teasing smile. He clutched at the blanket in his lap, and hoped he wasn’t betraying himself, that she couldn’t possibly know what his mind had gotten up to. 

“Ah yes,” he started, “I must’ve been dreaming.”

“About what?” her eyes were wide with concern, and the hand on his arm rubbed gentle warm circles through the fabric of his button down shirt.

“I-ah-,” Harry flushed red around the collar, quickly racking his brain for a good excuse. “I can’t remember anymore. What time is it?” 

Macy gave him an unsatisfied glance, but acquiesced. “It’s about 2 in the morning. I couldn’t sleep at all, so I came up here to do some research on cloaking or disguise potions. Anything we can use now that we don’t have our powers.” 

“That makes-ah, a lot of sense,” Harry stated, tearing his eyes away from her face and tugging the blanket closer against himself. 

Macy gave him a curious look. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re sweaty and flushed, Har. Are you feeling well?”

Harry nodded furiously. “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he said in a clipped tone. 

“What’s going on?” Macy tugged at the blanket he was pulling ever closer. “Are you hiding something from me?”

‘If only you knew,’ Harry thought, cursing his weak will, and the fact that he still remained hard throughout this entire conversation. Waking up and being thoroughly embarrassed should’ve been the cold shower he needed, but his body only wanted to betray him. Macy was still tugging at the blanket, a teasing grin lighting up her face. “What’s going on? Are you hiding a romance novel under there? Is Harry Greenwood reading something smutty?” 

“Macy, please,” he tried to stop her, but she was too quick, and tugged the blanket off of his lap and onto the floor before he could do anything. He was exposed, and yet, still, the humiliation of it all only made him more turned on. “What’s wrong with me?” he said aloud, hands raking through his hair.

“Oh,” Macy replied, a blush gracing her own cheeks now. Harry couldn’t help but feel some small sense of vindication; she would learn to not pry so much, but instead of getting up to leave, Macy scooted closer to him, the hand on his arm having ceased its movements and now clutching his forearm tightly. “I guess you are hiding something,” she quipped with a light laugh.

“I’m sorry, Macy,” he started, but she cut him off with a firm kiss. Her lips were free from that dark lipstick, and she tasted like mint toothpaste, smelled like her lavender shampoo. Suddenly, he was transported back into the dream, and left wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by every inch of her. One of her nimble hands quickly landed on his cock, which was straining against the zipper of his slacks. He broke the kiss with a rough gasp as she unzipped his pants, slowly peeled them open, and brushed her knuckles against him through the fabric of his underwear. He thrust up into her touch, throwing his head back, and wondering how in the nine circles of Hell had he gotten so lucky as to have this beautiful woman touching him with such tenderness. 

Her hands finally breached his underwear, and brushed against his cock with the barest of touches. He moaned aloud and she shushed him with another kiss. “Be careful, people are still sleeping,” she whispered with a mischievous grin plastered on her face as she continued to touch and tease him.

“Macy, I- ah, I’m not sure how long-,” he broke off with another moan as she began to stroke him firmly, her thumb teasing the slit and spreading precum over the head. He was so close already, and this was too much. He opened his eyes, caught her gaze, and said with finality, “You’re beautiful.”

She smiled at him, warm and inviting, still stroking him like they had always done this, like they had always been sharing their bodies with each other. “Why don’t you come for me, then?” she said simply. 

“Fuck, Macy-,” his breath caught in his throat, “Macy, I’m-”

———

Harry shot up gasping for air, eyes wild and shirt half unbuttoned. He realized he was alone. ‘Where was Macy? What…’ Harry looked around the attic, and saw early morning light peeking through the window. His novel had fallen to the floor, along with the blanket that had been covering him. His pants were damp, and, “Fuck,” he whispered to the empty room. He rubbed an aggravated hand over his eyes. That was the fourth dream he’d had this week about Macy; lately all of his dreams were about her, but none of them were this vivid, this real. ‘Was it truly a dream?’ Harry wondered. At any rate, he still had only managed to get through the first page of his novel before falling asleep. 

He made his way downstairs after changing into a clean pair of pants, and wandered into the kitchen in search of tea. Macy was sitting at the table, preoccupied with a nearly crumbling copy of Olde and Potente Potions Volume 3, when she looked up at Harry and gave him a clipped smile. “Rough night?” She also looked exhausted, but gave him no indication that she had been a participant in his dreams. The potions book was an odd coincidence, but Harry shrugged it off in a vain attempt to put any connection to his dream to rest.

Harry sighed as he prepared a cup of tea, and tried to regain focus. “You have no idea.”

Macy flashed that brief smile once more before turning back to her reading. She was more focused on making sure they were all safe, and prepared for whatever they may encounter in this new war on witches. ‘She is right to do so,’ Harry thought, pride swelling in his chest as he watched her work. There was no time for anyone to let their guard down. Maybe one day, if the stars aligned and their world calmed, he would tell her about the dreams, about how beautiful she was in them, and how much more beautiful she is in person. But not today. Today, they had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love to write and constructive criticism is welcomed! I am also seriously considering a Macy version of this...plus I have a bunch of unfinished prompts for this pairing. If you have any other prompts that you’d like me to add to the list lmk in the comments. Thank you!


End file.
